


Come and Get It

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Writing on the Wall [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Christening Every Room in Bobby's House, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Shot, Cuddling, Destiel - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Domestic Castiel, Double Come Shot, Dry Humping, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fondling, Forced Screams, Frantic Sex, Groping, Hand Jobs, Headcanon, Hickeys, Horny Dean, Human Castiel, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Licking, Lube, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Naked Cuddling, Naughty Dean, Nerdy Castiel, Non-Graphic Violence, Orgasm Delay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pervy Dean, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming, Sappy Dean, Screaming Orgasm, Shameless Smut, Slash, Sloppy Makeouts, Surprise Sex, Wall Sex, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may still fuss about it sometimes, but the truth is that Dean loves him some angel-butt.  A collection of fics for all the times Dean decided he wanted that sweet ass and just went and got it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come and Get It

**Author's Note:**

> Fics for anyone who is just here for the buttsex!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A successful hunt on a beautiful day, and Cas is being domestic—of course that’s gonna turn Dean on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyde here—this chapter is my first contribution to the porn continuation. Right after finishing “Coming Back to Life,” Mervin immediately churned out the first three porn fics (“[Get it Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1113115),” “[Free for All](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387/chapters/2331719),” and “[Hot Shot Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387/chapters/2337978)”), and I started feeling inadequate (and pervy) and so had to answer her with my own. Those four fics were originally going to be just a bonus year’s worth of sex and that would be the end of it. Obviously that didn’t happen, and this original one-shot has now become the first chapter of a whole fic collection that’s the butt and nothing but. We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Mrs. Hyde

_November, 2026_

There was nothing better than a fine fall day and a successful hunt. The air was crisp but not cold, the sky was clear, the sun was bright, the trees were colorful, and Dean was feelin’ _awesome_. He and Cas had just put down a nasty vampire outside of Dayton, Ohio, who’d been pulling the clichéd old Dracula routine, trying to get in close to and turn a nice librarian.

A nice, _hot_ librarian, and she’d been _very_ grateful for their help. Dean hadn’t held back on the charm, and she’d been obviously eager to show him her…gratitude. It was awesome to know that even pushing fifty, he still had it. But it was with real regret that he’d told her he had to leave, but at least he got do to a totally awesome High Plains Drifter move and kiss her goodbye, because he couldn’t stay, not with more people to save, and he hopped on his black steed to ride off into the sunset. Well, it was the sunrise, actually. And he didn’t really kiss her, even though he’d wanted to and she’d wanted him to—he couldn’t do that with Cas right there. And the real pressing reason that they were leaving wasn’t about another job as they wandered the earth, but more because they had a decapitated body in the trunk and they needed to get rid of it.

But besides that, it was totally just like in a movie.

They’d rolled out of town, victorious and listening to Def Leppard with the windows down. They stopped off to dump the corpse in the woods some miles out, burning and burying it, and then had sped off in the opposite direction, looping around to head back to South Dakota. They’d been up all night, though, so Dean had no intention of driving the whole day. He figured they’d stop for lunch and then get a motel to get some shut eye—a great end to a great job on a great day.

They hit the decent-sized (if goofily-named) town of Van Wert around noon; for the past hour, Dean’s stomach had loudly been letting him know that it didn’t appreciate being ignored for so long, and he figured that was as good a place to stop as any. He found a local greasy spoon that looked very promising; he had a sixth-sense about these things, really, and the minute he stepped inside, the smell of fried food heavy in the air told him he’d picked a winner—to say nothing of the sight of the big glass case full of homemade pies.

One huge, messy burger, a mountain of onion rings, four beers, and a slice of Dutch apple pie later, and he was full and satisfied. Today was a good day all around; all was right with the world, and now he was ready to hit the hay. Cas had been quiet; he never liked all-night jobs, but he never complained about them (he made up for it by complaining a _lot_ when he was kept up late by something that wasn’t a job) and he’d been cool with going to the diner (although Dean felt that the sweet and cinnamon-y apple pie had been perfectly adequate compensation for letting Dean pick lunch). He figured Cas was ready for bed too, and Dean made a note that when they got up to head out, he should take him to the hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant he spotted downtown when they were cruising around for a motel.

Dean checked them into a little roadside stop with the ever-popular name of the Tiki Motel—man, if he had a dollar for every time he’d stayed in a place with that name, he could buy himself an autographed copy of _Houses of the Holy_. They got to their room, and Dean brought in the hunting bags and left their clothes to Cas. First things first, though—he had to take care of any evidence, and he had two big bloody machetes and a short-handled knife wrapped in newspaper in there that needed to be cleaned. Cas of course busied himself with a wet rag and their shirts from the hunt, dabbing at the bloodstains and— _seriously?_

Yeah, seriously—he had a little travel-sized spray bottle with him and was carefully using whatever was in it to spot-treat every bloodstain he could find. Dean snorted to himself, rinsing the blades and drying them carefully, and then setting them aside to wet the bloody newspaper too. It was a handy trick, really, in that it did rinse some blood away, and otherwise left the paper a soggy, inky mess that really didn’t look bloodstained anymore.

He chucked the wad of paper pulp into the trash and then took the blades over to the bed, digging around in his bag for a whetstone. Dad had drilled into him every manner of weapons maintenance since he was four years old, and now, over forty years later, he still followed it to the letter. And when you were dealing with a blade, you always put the edge back on after you used it.

There was something soothing about the rhythmic rasp of the steel on the stone, and by the time Dean had gone over all three of them, he’d lulled himself into a mellow sort of stupor. He put them away, yawning, and then reached into his jacket for his flask. He quickly discovered that he was getting low, so he just went ahead and finished off what was in there in two gulps; that way he could fill it up with all fresh when they got back in the car.

The whiskey went down with a smooth, familiar burn, leaving a warm trail in its wake, and Dean let out a satisfied breath, tucking the now empty flask away and looking over at Cas—

—just in time to see him leaning forward to lay out a shirt, bent way over the table, his back curved just right, and his jeans pulling taut over his ass.

…Well, who was he to ignore such an obvious invitation?

A familiar heat bloomed up in his middle, simmering low in his belly. He’d reached into the front pocket of his bag for some lube before he even knew was he was doing, stuffing the tube in his pocket and crossing the room in three quick strides, not looking at anything but that trim little ass waving around over the edge of the table.

Cas jumped when Dean’s hands wrapped low around his hips, and he started to stand up, but then Dean was right there, leaning forward and keeping him bent over. “Nuh-uh,” he murmured in his ear. “You stay right where you are.” Then he gave an _mmm_ of satisfaction as he pushed his hips forward, and then he was all up against that ass, right where he wanted to be.

Cas froze where he was, his hands still splayed on the damp shirt he’d been spreading out, and when Dean ground his hips forward, chasing the friction between his jeans and Cas’s firm little butt, Cas made a small noise and looked back at Dean.

Oh, now that was just no fair, looking at him like that. At the sight of Cas’s blue eyes gazing over his shoulder with what was a goddamn _come-hither_ look—how the hell did that dumbass manage to pull that off when he couldn’t even recognize when a girl was flirting with him?—a sharp lance of heat stabbed down into Dean’s crotch, and he felt himself starting to get hard. But that was okay, really, because it made the next forward-push of his hips even better.

Man, Dean thought he could just keep this up all day. Cas was doing what he was told, good angel, staying right where Dean wanted him: up against the edge of the table, braced on his arms as he bent forward over the top. Dean spread one palm out on his lower back, pushing down and making him arch it a bit so that his ass stuck out just right while Dean humped him.

Dean tightened his grip on Cas’s hips, coaxing him to move a little with him, and Cas obliged, starting to push back against Dean’s stiffening prick, and hot damn, with him moving one way and Dean grinding in the other made just the most _fantastic_ friction between their hips, and Dean leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he kept rubbing against him.

This was a _really_ good day.

A few more moments of that, and Dean figured that he shouldn’t be hogging all the fun for himself; with Cas rocking back against him, there was some room now between him and the table’s edge, so Dean slid one hand around to the front of his jeans and squeezed. Cas gave a small, breathy grunt, and Dean smirked at the feel of the half-hard cock under the denim; looked like Cas was having plenty of fun on his own. He didn’t let go, just kept rhythmically squeezing as he moved his hips, and feeling Cas getting hard under his hand and listening to the soft little sounds he was making was just getting him hard too, so pretty much everybody won, here.

By the time Dean was just starting to get uncomfortable, Cas was already rarin’ to go, so Dean figured he should probably help him out. Leaning forward, pressing his chest up against Cas’s back to keep him in place as he let go of his hips, he reached around with both hands and went for his fly, popping open the button and wrestling down his zipper. He heard a small, grateful sigh, and Dean grinned as he leaned his neck down to gently catch Cas’s ear in his teeth. He gave it a little tug and then let it go so he could lick it, sliding one hand up under his shirt to press on his soft stomach, pushing him back against Dean where he was still frotting against him, while his other hand eased down into his open jeans. He just cupped his hand over the front of his shorts, though, not actually grabbing him, just for the satisfaction of feeling him start to squirm, wiggling around and twitching his hips under Dean’s grip, trying to move forward enough to get his dick in Dean’s hand.

Cas’s rapid breathing had just started to take on a slightly whiny pitch when Dean finally just grabbed him. He jumped, inhaling sharply, but let it out in a soft _ohhh_ as Dean started jacking him through his shorts.

Dean would wager that Cas was having a pretty good day now, too.

Things were getting a bit critical back on his end, though; Cas was leaning forward even farther now, his butt pressing tight against Deans hips, and between that and the noises Cas was making as Dean worked him, it was starting to get painful back here.

He kept tugging on Cas as he slowed his own hips, reaching back to open his fly; he didn’t fumble, even though he was using his left hand to do it, because hey, Dean Winchester could do anything in bed with either hand tied behind his back (or down the front of Cas’s pants, for that matter). He let out a sigh of relief as his prick was freed from the tight confines of his jeans, the tented front of his shorts coming out of his open fly to press up against Cas’s still-covered ass.

And the sight of that alone got Dean moving, because just rubbing on it wasn’t good enough anymore—he needed to _see_ that ass while he humped it, all round and pink and bared while Cas was bent over the table.

He fought his way into his pocket—okay, that one was a bit difficult, reaching into the right with his left hand, even for Dean Winchester—but he managed to wrangle the lube out and pop the cap off with his thumb. He let go of Cas’s prick, which prompted another whine, but Dean just snorted, bumping his hips against him once as he reached back to squirt a little lube onto his fingers, working it around a bit before reaching back around and sliding them under the waistband of Cas’s shorts.

Leaned forward with his chin over his shoulder like he was, Dean could see the way Cas’s eyes fell closed, his lashes dark on his cheeks as his head lolled forward, and he softly murmured, “Dean…” when Dean’s slick fingers curled around his cock. Dean smirked, licking at the soft skin behind Cas’s ear before biting down gently on his neck as his fingers started to move. Slow, though, because Dean wasn’t done here, not by a long-shot, and he didn’t want Cas jumping the finish line without him.

He stayed where he was for just a moment, his fingers loose and sliding along Cas’s prick ever-so-slowly, until he felt one of Cas’s hands blundering up to wind his fingers in Dean’s hair. He’d been happily worrying on the thin skin of his neck, but the touch of Cas’s hand snapped him out of it, and he remembered what he’d really been after. So he shook him off and straightened back up again, not stopping the movements of the hand in Cas’s shorts, but stilling his own hips as he reached around and started to tug down his pants.

It was a bit of a hassle, working them down in front while still jerking him, but Dean Winchester, remember? He got them down over his prick and all bunched up at the tops of his thighs, before licking his lips and reaching around to hook his fingers in the back, under the waistband of both his jeans and his shorts, and then he slowly pulled them down.

Shit yes, that was what he wanted to see—the denim pulling away to show him those two sweet little cheeks, creamy-white and firm and sticking out where Cas was all bent over for him. Dean pulled his pants all the way down to his thighs, baring his entire ass, and because it was just begging for it, he leaned down and sank his teeth right into one smooth cheek. And he did it slow, too, getting his teeth on him gently at first but then slowly clamping them tighter, tighter, feeling Cas first let out a gasp and then a whimper, but Dean kept at it, holding on for just a little bit longer before easing back just as slowly, and then finally letting go. He straightened up and surveyed the nice red mark he left with satisfaction, rubbing it with his thumb.

 _See? Mine_ , he thought smugly. He rubbed the bitemark just a little more before straightening up and getting his hips all against Cas’s now deliciously bare ass. He was still jacking him, but just as slow as before—Cas wasn’t gonna finish until Dean was good and ready for him to. And he wasn’t, not yet, because he was having way too much fun watching him. He slid his free hand up under Cas’s shirt, smoothing over the warm skin of his back, the lines of old scars rippling under his fingers, and then he pushed down.

Cas finally got his message, dropping down lower beneath the pressure of Dean’s hand; now he was braced on his elbows, arching the long line of his back and waving his ass up in the air, and he had to go and give Dean another one of those _looks_ over his shoulder, playing it all innocent-like while he was pushing his ass back to bump Dean’s cock.

 _Innocent_ my _ass, you little perv._ Dean snorted as he tugged his shorts out of the way, reaching for the lube and squeezing a little bit of it right there in the small of Cas’s bare back; he let out a little hiss when the cold stuff hit is skin, and Dean smirked at him. Dean put the tube back down and then pressed his palm down over the cold spot, warming it up, and then scooped it all up and used it to slick up his own dick.

 _Yeah, that’s nice._ He scooted back in so close he could feel Cas all pressed up against his hips, rubbing his balls all over his bare asscheeks while he jerked them both off. He’d been working Cas slow this whole time, and so it was with a nasty little smile that Dean suddenly tightened his fingers and started jerking him hard and fast; Cas, who had just been idly moving his hips against Dean’s hand, sucked in a startled breath and then just moaned, and loud too, and Dean chuckled. Circling his hips one last time, dragging his sack all across his Cas’s butt while he stroked their cocks in time, he spread his feet a bit more, moving down. He really wanted to have that ass pressed up against him again—he loved that. So he moved down, dragging his prick down between Cas’s cheeks, pausing to rub the head all around the rough pucker of his asshole (and accidentally making himself moan, dammit), finally getting down to the round underside of his ass where he could push forward into that nice warm space between Cas’s thighs.

He slowed the hand that was jerking Cas until he came to a stop, but still keeping a grip on him, and he snickered at the thought of steering him like a joystick that popped into his head as he reached down with his free hand to push his legs closer together. Cas was panting, his head still hanging down where it had been when Dean had worked him so good, but he moved when Dean nudged him, bringing his legs together until Dean’s cock was firmly sandwiched between his soft thighs.

“Yeah, you just stay right there, Cas,” he murmured again, starting to thrust. The lube that he’d been using to tug it earlier kept things nice and slippery, his cock sliding easily between Cas’s legs, rubbing along his taint and nudging against his ballsack. He reached around to squeeze Cas’s ass, rubbing the skin as he started to stroke his cock again. It was burning hot and swollen in Dean’s hand, and the wetness he felt when he dragged his thumb over the head wasn’t just the lube he’d used. He smirked—only Cas could get that turned on just from a dry-hump.

In fact, he’d better slow down, ‘cause Cas was obviously ginnin’ along nicely—but Dean wasn’t anywhere near as close as he was. Not for lack of trying, granted, but doing Cas’s thighs just wasn’t _enough_. Him with his skinny little chicken legs—they just didn’t have enough meat on them to make things as hot and tight as Dean wanted it. And doing it standing like this made the angle wrong, with Dean having to thrust forward when he really wanted to thrust _up_ , because he wanted to _feel_ that ass against his hips, he wanted to _hear_ their skin slapping together while he thrust—

—he just wanted to _fuck_ him.

His hips and his hand slowed to a halt, and he scowled down at the pale cheeks in front of him as Cas let out a little whine and started fruitlessly thrusting against Dean’s motionless hand. Dean squeezed his hip tighter and Cas stilled, his breathing hoarse, but he stayed where he was, bent down, his back curved, his ass perfectly presented off the edge of the table.

Fuck him anyway for making Dean want his ass so bad.

_Good idea._

Dean started thrusting again, and it wasn’t nearly so frustrating now that he knew he was just keeping himself fluffed for what was going to come later. He let go of Cas, though, pulling his hand out of his shorts and bringing it back around to grip his hips for a bit; his hand was still a bit slick; he’d need some more lube eventually, but he still had enough for right now.

He splayed his hand on the bare small of Cas’s back before dragging it down to caress his soft little buttcheeks, his fingers spread over them and his thumb slipping down between them. When he’d moved down far enough to find his asshole, he pressed and rubbed with the pad of his thumb, and the little noise Cas made was definitely one of approval.

 _Well, try this one on for size._ And Dean curved his still-slippery thumb and shoved it right up his ass.

Cas gasped, and Dean grinned as he started pushing it in and out of him as he fucked his thighs. He glanced up; Cas’s head was hanging limply down between his arms again, his breathing shaky. Cas always was a sucker for even a little bit of finger action.

And he went nuts for more. Dean stopped his hips and this time pulled out from between his thighs. Holding Cas’s hip with one hand, he moved his foot between Cas’s to nudge his legs apart; Cas lifted his head to look back at him, his face flushed, before he spread his feet so that his legs were far enough apart that his asscheeks weren’t clenched. Still working him with his thumb, Dean leaned forward, curving over his back, his cock snugly against his ass, and lightly bit the nape of his neck once before he grabbed him there with his free hand and forced him all the way down flat onto the table, his cheek pressed against the forgotten shirt that was spread out beneath him.

Dean raised up on his toes so he could reach Cas’s mouth for a quick, lightly-tongued kiss, and then he rocked backwards, beaming down at Cas’s ass: sticking up in the air, his legs apart, right where he wanted it. He grabbed the lube and squirted a line all down his asscrack, and then hunkered down a little, rubbing all along it with his fingers, using his free hand to grip and squeeze one cheek. ‘Cause he was right there, he licked once at the livid red bitemark he’d left earlier, and then positioned the tip of his finger right there on Cas asshole—but he didn’t move.

Cas’s breathing was thick, his eyes tightly closed. Dean could tell that he was waiting for it—that he _wanted_ it—but Dean didn’t move beyond just barely teasing him with tiny little prods that didn’t actually go in. “You want me to finger you, Cas?” he smirked up at him were he could see him watching him over the table’s edge.

“Yes,” came the gasping reply. “Please finger me.”

Dean’s smile widened. “No,” he said lightly, delivering a tiny nip to his unmarked buttcheek, making him jump a little. “If you want your ass fingered, I think you should do it yourself—I’m just gonna keep my finger right where it is, and if you want it in your ass, then you have to move.”

Cas was still, and Dean rolled his eyes, putting his palm on the top of his butt and guiding him backwards and—there. Now he got it. Dean kept his hand steady, and then Cas was slowly moving his hips back, pushing harder and harder against Dean’s finger until it just slipped right in.

“There you go,” he said, amused. “Now, go ahead, Cas—fuck your ass with my finger.”

And Cas did get it—ever so slowly, he started to move, rocking his hips, making his asshole slide back and forth on Dean’s finger, and god _damn_ , that was hot.

He kept moving, pushing deeper, and he let out a tiny moan when he tilted his hips, and Dean knew he’d managed to hit his own sweet spot. Smirking, Dean stilled his hips with his hand, leaned forward to nibble at his buttcheek again before soothing the spot with his lips and tongue, and then moved a second finger into position and coaxing Cas to start moving again.

Jesus, this was so _hot_ —listening to Cas pant as he moved his hips, still bent over the table with his jeans pulled down and bunched around his thighs, and Dean sitting there watching his tight little asshole spreading open as Dean’s fingers went in. Only crouching down like this was starting to make Dean’s knees hurt, so he braced himself on the edge of the table and lowered himself to his knees.

There—better view, anyway. Dean stilled him one more time, bringing up his usual third finger against him, and then guiding him to move again. Dean leaned forward, pressing his cheek against Cas’s buttcheek, mouthing at the smooth white skin and making it get a little pink as he moved, watching him use Dean’s fingers to work his own asshole open. Just ‘cause he felt like it, he stilled him one more time, bringing his pinkie up next to his other fingers. “Come on, Cas,” he murmured against his butt. “Just one more.”

And Cas pushed his ass back again, his breath quick and rapid as he took all of Dean’s fingers in his ass, letting out a tiny moan as he did.

“That feel good, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice low.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas whimpered, pressing his face into the shirt beneath him, still moving his hips, fucking himself on Dean’s fingers. And it must have been good, because he was seriously getting into it; Dean had to brace his arm tight against how hard he was pushing back, straining against him and trying to take everything in.

Well, Dean had something for him to take in, all right, and they were both ready for it at this point. Dean grabbed one cheek and made him stop, made him hold still as he slowly eased his fingers out of him. Dean grabbed both his cheeks, squeezing them and spreading them; his asshole was right there, ready for him, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward and—

—and _what_ , exactly?

He froze, right there holding Cas’s asscheeks apart, leaning forward, because he’d been about to—

 _No. Way. In. Hell._ He did _not_ do that.

Except all those times he did with all those women before, of course.

 _With_ women _! That’s the_ point _! That’s_ always _the point!_

…except it was still ass, wasn’t like it was majorly different like with the critical equipment. Which he’d learned to go down on already anyway.

Dammit.

He realized that he was still sitting there, gripping Cas’s ass, and he relaxed his fingers, swinging his face around to latch onto some of the soft, unmarked skin of one cheek and suck it into his mouth—that was safe.

It—he’d— _Come on, man! You’ve eaten out girls like that before! And don’t forget all the times Cas ate_ you _out!_

His nibbling slowed, and he stilled. Yeah—he remembered all those times that Cas conned Dean into letting him eat his ass, making him sit back and take it and turning him into a whimpering wreck and even making him _beg_ for it. His back stiffened. Oh, so no wonder he was always so smug about it—he was secure in the knowledge that Dean wouldn’t ever do the same thing to him, was he?

Setting his jaw, he grabbed Cas’s asscheeks again, nipping a little and then soothing the spot with a kiss, using the time to work up some spit, and once he was sure that his tongue was nice and wet, he charged forward and dragged it right up the crack of Cas’s ass.

Man, Cas always made the _girliest_ noises when Dean surprised him by doing new stuff to him. A tiny spiraling shriek escaped him and he bucked like a bronco, and then he was struggling to push himself up, raising up and looking back down at Dean with wide eyes, and oh, hell do, he was _not_ gonna watch this! Bad enough he watched him when Dean sucked his dick, but this? Oh, no _way_.

Dean sprang up to his feet (his knees would not thank him for that in the morning) and grabbed Cas by the back of his neck, pushing him firmly back down flat on the table with a thump. “I told you to stay where I put you,” he said sternly, leaning over him where he was pressing him down into the rumpled shirt that Cas had been laying out earlier, which was now worse for wear. Cas was looking up at him, his eyes wide and shocked, and Dean felt his neck heating up ( _again_ , goddammit) but made himself say, “Now, are you gonna stay there?”

Cas’s Adam’s apple bobbed and then he nodded, and Dean let him go. His face got hot again when he moved to lower himself back down to his knees, Cas’s ass right there in his face. It had been much easier when he’d just, well, done it. Now he had to think about it, and it was sounding like more and more of a mistake the more he did. At least, until he remembered the incredibly girly noises he himself had made the times before when Cas had rimmed him, and that went a long way to making his mind up for him.

He spread Cas’s ass again, and he felt him tense—which is why he didn’t start up again, instead leaning to the side and delivering a firm bite to his left cheek, making him jump. And then he licked where he’d bitten, spiraling around and moving inward—only to move away when he felt Cas go tense again. He was smirking after a few rounds of teasing him and pulling away; Dean could hear his breath whistling through his nose, and his legs were rigid and shaking with tension.

And that’s why he didn’t give him any warning at all when he just shoved aside his own hesitation and buried his face in his ass and started licking.

Cas let out a helpless shocked screech, damn near flying right off the table, but Dean had a firm grip on him and kept him right there, determinedly licking at his asshole, hardly able to believe that he was doing this. But since he was doing it, he was gonna do it _right_ , because that’s what Dean Winchester did; he kept his tongue wet—it helped cover the taste and he knew it felt more awesome thataway, too—and he licked all up and down his ass before focusing his hard, quick little licks right there on his asshole. _Like riding a bike, I guess_ , he thought wryly, not sure if he should be glad that he was finally getting a chance to use some of his previous expertise with women on Cas, or fucking annoyed because he was using it _on a guy_.

God, Cas sounded like such a little puss, all those whimpering noises he was making, muffled by the crumpled shirt that he had buried his face in. And all just from a little rimming. Yeah, it was awesome, but seriously, man. Dean let go of Cas’s ass with one hand and reached up to squeeze his balls high and tight—he sounded like he was about to ruin everything by coming too soon, and Dean wasn’t about to have that happen.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas moaned, futilely trying to escape Dean’s clenched fingers, his hands knotting the flannel of the shirt beneath him.

Really, that right there made it all worth it. Dean couldn’t help but smirk a little despite the situation, and he rubbed the flat of his tongue all over his asshole before giving him a quick prod with the tip, and Cas made one last keening noise, and then Dean was done. No more of that—yeah, he’d done it, but it was still…well. Still what it was. To a guy. Only so much he could take. He rocked back on his knees and stood up, surveying the damage.

Cas’s eyes were crunched shut, his face flushed and his teeth clamped tightly down on a mouthful of fabric. Dean snorted, leaning down over him and tugging it away; he looked like he’d about gone cross-eyed when he finally opened them, and Dean chuckled as he tugged the shirt away from him and leaned down.

Cas’s kiss was sloppy, like he’d had his brains so scrambled that he’d forgotten how or something, which was stupid, but it was still fine by Dean, because he was that awesome. “Just like that, Cas,” he murmured against his lips. “You taste your ass in my mouth.” And Cas lunged forward to suck frantically on his tongue, doing just that.

And it was all so fucking hot.

And now here Dean was, Cas bent over the table beneath him, and his prick all pressed up against his ass, and now he was done with the foreplay. He wanted what he’d been wanting this whole goddamn time: he wanted his _ass_ , he wanted to get his cock all up inside of him, and he just wanted to _fuck_ him.

He raised up, standing over Cas where he was sprawled out on the tabletop, and he rubbed his cock against his ass just a couple more times before he grabbed the lube, squirting some all between his cheeks again and getting it up inside of him with one quick finger, which made him whimper helplessly. Then he got another small handful so he could re-grease his cock before tossing the tube aside to press his hand on the small of Cas’s back, holding him still and tilting his ass up a tad. He dragged the head of his cock all up and down his crack and all around his asshole, and then he just pushed inside.

He hissed at the sudden tight heat that swallowed up the head of his dick, dimly hearing Cas give out a thready moan. He made himself hold still for a minute, and then he thrust forward, just a little, and then a little more—and then he braced himself on the edge of the table and thrust all the way home, pressed tight up against his ass.

He groaned, heavy and deep, and Cas did too, and then Dean gripped his hips, his fingers digging into his flesh, before he finally started to move, to thrust, to _fuck_.

 _Christ_ , yes, this is what he wanted, what he’d wanted from the minute he saw Cas’s firm little ass bent over the table like that, the tease. “ _Fuck_ , yes,” he moaned to the ceiling, thrusting faster, feeling Cas clenching around him. “You make it so _tight_ , Cas—such a tight little ass.”

He opened his eyes to see Cas moving, pushing up on his elbows again, and then he was looking back at him, all coy and over his shoulder, and he asked, his voice shaky and low, “Does my ass feel good, Dean?”

“You _know_ it does—so hot and tight around my cock,” he gasped. “Love it—I love it _so much_.”

“I love it too—love it when you—fuck my ass, Dean,” Cas gasped, his breath coming in quick bursts, his words jerky as he rocked forward from the force of Dean’s thrusts, the table starting to rock along with him as Dean kept fucking him harder.

Dean threw one hand up to push Cas down again, bending him flat against the tabletop, and then he grabbed one of his arms and pulled it back. “Spread your ass for me,” he panted, “I wanna see,” and Cas _did_ , he turned his head to the side and fucking _looked_ at him as he reached back and grabbed both cheeks and spread his own ass so Dean could see the way his thrusts were driving his cock up his asshole.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Dean groaned mindlessly. “Love it—fucking love bendin’ you over the table—makin’ you my little bitch!”

“ _Ah!_ —yes, Dean,” Cas moaned wildly, breathless, his voice spiraling upward and cracking. “I _want_ to be your little bitch!”

Oh, _fuck_ , he couldn’t take it much longer, Cas bent over the table and moaning and talking like that and that sweet little ass slapping against his hips while Dean fucked him, and he didn’t think Cas could take it much longer either, ‘cause Dean wasn’t stopping, wasn’t letting up—he was riding _this_ one into the sunset, just like in the movies, and Cas’s little sobbing gasps and cries told Dean he was nearly done.

And he _was_ done—the minute Dean groped his left hand down underneath him to wrap around his cock, Cas let out a shriek, and he was already coming, and when Dean started jerking him, still relentlessly fucking his ass the whole time, he wailed his name like a firebell, flailing beneath him and clawing wildly at the tabletop and jizzing all into Dean’s hand, and when he did his ass squeezed him, clamping tight around his cock and _God_ , yes, he was gonna come, he was fucking Cas’s ass and he was gonna _come_ , and he pulled back and slammed forward one last time, all the way up his ass, and then he pulled out and grabbed his cock and he jerked it and shit-fuck, he was coming, yes, _God_ , he was _coming_ , all over Cas’s ass, blowing his load all over Cas all bent over in front of him on his back and his buttcheeks and on his well-fucked asshole and _FUCK, YES, CAS!_

All the air went out of Cas in wheeze when Dean slumped forward and landed heavily half on top of him, bent over in the same position, his stomach against Cas’s back, squishing him onto the tabletop.

Dean felt bad about it, but the thing was he couldn’t move, could just lay there, his face mashed against Cas’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. Cas’s eyes were closed, his mouth open as he breathed shallowly.

Dean eventually realized that he still had his hands clamped around their dicks, and he pried his fingers away; the one around his own he just let flop down next to him. The other was sticky where he jerked Cas off, and he dragged it up by the table to grimace at it—but then with a jolt in his stomach he brought up one wet finger and smeared it across Cas’s lips before slipping it into his open mouth.

His eyes fluttered open, his expression dazed. “Come on, Cas,” Dean said hoarsely. “Eat your come.”

Cas blinked slowly, struggling to focus on Dean’s hand…but then his little pink tongue came out and started to lick at the spunk clinging to Dean’s fingers.

Even after everything, watching that made another spike of heat shoot down Dean’s middle to his limp dick, and actually managed to make it give a twitch of renewed interest. “That’s right, Cas,” he said breathlessly. “You lick it all up.”

And Cas did, and he swallowed it all down, and the feel of the rasping licks of his tongue on Dean’s skin and watching him lap up all of his own come wrung a tiny, helpless moan out of him.

He finally finished, but they both just laid there, limp and wrung out and exhausted, Cas sucking feebly on the tip of Dean’s finger. That was what finally got Dean to move; he couldn’t take it anymore, the little needles of heat shooting through his fingers and trying to get him going again, and if he somehow _did_ get going again, he’d probably wind up hospitalized. He pulled away and summoned every ounce of strength he had left (which wasn’t much) and managed to push himself up and off of Cas, his hips still heavy against his side but propping himself up on the table.

He looked down, and there was Cas’s firm little ass, dotted with little red marks (and one big one) from where Dean had bitten him all over, and covered with drops of jizz where Dean had come all over him. Smirking in spite of himself, he brought his hands up to touch him, caressing the red marks and smearing his come all over him, rubbing it all around on his smooth, soft skin.

Then he sighed explosively and gave Cas’s arm a tug, helping him heave himself to his feet with a piteous little moan. Hitching up their pants, they managed to stumble towards the sink, leaning on each other like two drunks coming out of a bar just to keep from just falling over on the way, and wetting the two washcloths to mop up and then washing their hands. And then they lurched back to one of the beds; Dean messily shoved the covers down, and then struggled out of his clothes, nearly braining himself on the nightstand in trying to remove his shoes while still standing up, finally stripping down to his T-shirt and shorts and just falling into the bed.

Cas had sat down on the edge and was still just sitting there in a stupor; however, he finally managed to untie his shoes and then shove them, his socks, his pants, and his shorts off in a big pile on the floor. His shirt followed after, and he dragged himself into the bed next to Dean.

There was a great deal of limp-limbed flopping as they struggled to get under the blankets and get comfortable, but they finally managed, Cas pressed limply against Dean’s chest, Dean’s arm draped heavily across him.

Dean looked down and managed to move his leaden arm just enough to tip Cas’s chin up; his sleepy blue eyes opened slowly, blinking, and Dean leaned down for a slow, gentle kiss.

Then he let him go, and Cas closed his eyes again, and Dean wasn’t far behind.

Today had been an _awesome_ day.


	2. Armageddon It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s early in the morning, nobody’s home, and Dean is insanely horny. Dean can think of no better way to spend a day with no parental supervision than to jump Cas at every opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! It’s time for more of Dean just wantin’ that feathery ass.
> 
> Some of you may have noticed something that Cas said back in “[Neighborhood Watch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387/chapters/2347413)”. When Bobby expressed shock and alarm upon hearing that Dean possibly bottomed for Cas, Cas very politely and thoughtfully informed Bobby that no, he didn’t do _that_. Not only is Cas the bottom, but they never do that at Bobby’s anyway, only when they are on the road and in motel rooms. It’s an unspoken rule that Dean has laid down, and Cas goes along with it because that’s what Cas does.
> 
> Well…there are two exceptions to that unspoken rule. And here’s one of them.
> 
> Mervin

_December, 2026, 7:34 a.m._

It was no surprise that, when Dean and Cas pulled into the garage at Bobby’s, Bobby and Sam weren’t back yet. After all, _they_ hadn’t had to burn rubber to make a daring escape from the law. No, they probably just had a nice picnic after their hunt and were casually moseying on home, driving slowly and taking in the scenery. Goddammit.

Dean sighed, cutting the engine and rubbing absently at his shoulder. It was a little sore, but the feeling was already fading. He was glad that having some fat bastard clumsily body-slam him to the floor only resulted in a mildly-sore shoulder, really. But it was still all very annoying. _Everything_ was. It was early in the morning and he was tired from driving and not getting an after-hunt nap, the hunt had had a minor snafu, said snafu had caused Dean to not get any action after they were done, and Cas was benignly content with everything. That last one was probably the most irritating—what the hell did he have to be _content_ about? Unless Cas had spontaneously started playing with himself on this hunt, _he_ hadn’t gotten any either.

Heaving himself out of the car, Dean looped around to get his bags, leaving the trunk open for Cas as he made for the door, eager to get out of the cold. He heard Cas slam the trunk shut as he unlocked the back door, and he left that one hanging open for Cas, too. He tossed his bags by the kitchen table, but didn’t bother sitting down to service his guns or do anything with his clothes; the guns could wait and Cas would take care of the laundry. Dean just wanted to sit down on the couch, and he was gonna. He huffed when he finally collapsed on the sagging thing, his eyes shut as he rubbed one hand over his face, hearing the sound of Cas’s footsteps as he walked towards the stairs; he was probably taking their hunting bags upstairs, as he always did. 

Really, what was so aggravating was that the hunt hadn’t even gone _bad_ , per se. Things just…had gotten a little hectic right at the end. He, Sam, Bobby, and Cas had gone on one of their split hunts again—Cas and Dean had gone for what looked like the straight-forward ghost while Bobby and Sam went after the one that was a little more complicated and looked to need Bobby’s expertise. Theirs was a recent car crash that had happened in Torrington, Wyoming, where the victim claimed a woman had appeared on the stretch of road where he’d been driving—which coincided with several other rumors that had been circulating about a mysterious chick roaming up and down the road, but disappearing before anyone could get a good look at her. Pretty standard haunting from the sound of it. The other case over in Nokomis, Illinois, was a little weirder to Dean’s eye—but not to Bobby. He’d read up on it and announced that the string of natural disasters it sounded like it might be an _onryō_ , some kind of Japanese spirit of vengeance. He said it made sense—a Japanese woman had recently gone missing, her abusive husband was currently being held as the prime suspect, and the town was now getting trashed with all kinds of weird shit. Cas may have been a spirit expert in general, but this one was a Japanese spirit—that meant this one was Bobby’s.

They’d both headed off at about the same time—opposite directions and with ghosts to hunt. Dean and Cas had gotten situated in their motel in Torrington before striking out and questioning the witnesses about the ghost and what she’d looked like to see if they couldn’t get an ID. She’d been maybe in her twenties, just standing there in the middle of the road and staring; they’d both noted that nobody reported any kind of violent behavior or mentions about her following anybody home. They also found out that the more recent car-crash victim was the odd man out—everyone else just reported the staring woman. This guy said she actually ran out to try and stop him and get his attention, hence his swerving to try and avoid her and winding up in the ditch with a concussion.

Hmm—so she wasn’t _too_ violent, it seemed. In fact, it was vaguely familiar—a little like the ghost of the woman who replayed her final night over and over again with the vengeful ghost of the man she’d died with. However, Dean wasn’t interested in going out there and trying to talk her down without knowing all of the facts, so they’d gone over all recent obits next. They’d gotten lucky—after only a little searching, they’d found an obit with a picture, and the woman in it looked like the description all the witnesses who’d gotten a good enough look at her had given. Carol Armes, twenty-four, had died in a car crash six months ago—and now it appeared she was haunting that same stretch of road. Well, easy enough—just find out where she was buried, then.

And that was about the time they’d gotten thrown for a loop—the loop being that a couple of customers down at a local gaming store were ranting and raving about how they’d seen her ghost.

At the store.

Dean had been seriously confused by that one at first—why would Carol be haunting a bunch of gamers? More to the point, how the hell had she even _gotten_ there? That mystery had been solved by Cas quickly enough—he’d thought on it for a minute before insisting they go visit her gravesite, and after he’d done a little observing and minor spellwork, he’d said that she was a mobile ghost—meaning burning her bones at this point wouldn’t do a damn bit of good because there was something else tying her to earth.

Goddammit. Dean hated looking for random crap that kept ghosts hanging around when they shouldn’t be—didn’t matter how many times he had to do it, breaking into bereaved family members’ houses to steal treasured items to burn them was kinda shitty behavior, even if it meant putting the ghost down. Only problem here was they had absolutely _zero_ leads to go on when it came to whatever was keeping her tied to earth, especially when they actually got into her parents’ house—Cas had seen no remnants of ghost scat there, nor had he seen any at Carol’s sister’s house. They’d actually had to book another two days at their motel, it’d been taking so long. Granted, the updates with Sam and Bobby had revealed that they weren’t having much luck, either—Rena’s stellar husband Patrick was determined to prove his innocence so wasn’t giving up the location of her body, and they needed certain bones to perform the purification rituals to put her to rest and stop the disasters.

Oddly enough, they’d both hit their own jackpots at about the same time.

On another round of questioning the locals, Dean and Cas had finally found a lead—one Jerry Tonkin, an old classmate of Carol’s who had been pretty messed up after she died. In fact, he’d been acting weird ever since her death—late to work a lot when he showed up at all, not wanting to leave his house, not talking to anyone much…yeah, that wasn’t suspicious or anything. Great—looked like Jerry thought it’d be a fantastic idea to somehow bring her ghost back so he could have it around _forever_. Stalkers who didn’t let the grave get in between them and their obsession were never fun to deal with.

Before they’d gotten ready to head out, Dean had gotten a call from Sam—turns out that they’d finally pressed Patrick Hallworth hard enough and made him realize that his wife Rena was dead but not gone and she was _pissed_ and taking her rage out on the whole town just to get to him, and he’d confessed to them where he’d hidden her in the woods. They were about to head out and put her down for good, and Dean had told him that they were about to go do the same with their ghost. They both agreed to call when the job was done, and then they’d both gone back to their respective cases.

Well, once again, Dean’s “simple” case had thrown him a bit of a curve—Jerry Tonkin knew absolutely nothing about the occult. In fact, he was just an overweight loser who’d been pining after Carol since high school and had been positively heartbroken when she’d died. He’d even attended her funeral—Carol had been killed instantly on impact due to a broken neck, so the family had patched her up for a viewing before they’d buried her.

And Jerry, in a total creeper moment, had sneaked a keepsake—a lock of hair.

Least it hadn’t been her finger or something.

They’d discovered all of this when they’d actually headed into his house. Or rather, his mom’s house—he still lived with her. Cas had muttered that there was definitely a ghost in here, and after they’d sat down to talk, Dean had not bothered to be coy about anything—he’d started in immediately with the leading and slightly threatening questions, thinking they were dealing with some halfwit who fancied himself a necromancer. But he minute Dean started to lean on him, Jerry had started stuttering and freaking out, so Dean had quickly stricken that theory from the list—he was losing his cool way too fast to be a guy who summoned ghosts for his own amusement. However, he _was_ defensive when it came to Carol, which meant he knew _something_ about her.

Dean had stopped beating around the bush then, telling Jerry the long and short of it—yes, they knew her spirit was still in this realm, and no, she couldn’t stay. Jerry had insisted that yes, she so _could_ , because she was finally here with him and there didn’t have to _be_ a goodbye. Dean had held down his lunch at that crap and informed him that yes, there _did_ , and had demanded to know what he’d done. After he’d been uncooperative, Cas had decided to drop his charade as well and had informed Dean that there was something of Carol’s upstairs. Dean had told him to go get it, and Cas had done as he was told, and Jerry had gone ballistic.

Well, “ballistic” was a strong word. More like…had a tantrum. He’d tried to go blundering after Cas when it became clear that Cas would be able to tell where he’d hidden whatever it was he’d stolen, and Dean had stepped in between him and the stairs, telling him to calm down and that she needed to be put to rest and have her hair and her bones burned before she became violent.

Yeah, trying to get Jerry to understand _that_ had gone over about like the time Dean had tried to explain to Cas why the chicken crossing the road to get to the other side was funny. Jerry had charged Dean instead after that, flailing around like an idiot and bawling him out, shrieking that Cas had better stay out of his bedroom. Dean had snarked (perhaps unwisely) that he appreciated his telling them _exactly_ where it was, and Jerry had flailed even more at Dean. He was patently no fighter, but he was heavy and could toss that weight around. Dean was trying his best not to seriously hurt the guy, but dammit, he was just _asking_ for a sock in the mouth as he continued to struggle and wrestle with him, shoving him away from the stairs and doing a very weird, clumsy dance around the place and eventually winding up in the kitchen. Jerry had been slap-fighting at him, and Dean had just about been ready to lay him out, who _cared_ if he hurt him this time, and then he had _definitely_ been ready to do it when Jerry landed a lucky kick right in the shin and Dean lost his balance with Jerry landing fully on top of him, driving all the air out of him and bruising his shoulder. ‘Kay, that was it—Jerry was gonna get it now—if Dean could just get his fucking hands out from under the dumbass—and if he’d stop _flailing_ at him— _god-fucking-dammit_ —!

_CLANG._

And all the air had gone out of Dean _again_ when Jerry just kind of collapsed on top of him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he passed out.

Cas stared disapprovingly down at the scene, a lock of hair in one hand and a heavy skillet in the other.

They’d rolled Jerry off then, and Cas had helped Dean to his feet and they’d headed out. On their way to the cemetery, Cas explained the whole story, that yeah, Jerry had stolen her hair at the funeral and had been pathetically happy to have her back, but that Carol didn’t really want to be here—because apparently, while Dean had been having a slapfight downstairs, Cas had been ghost-whispering. He’d had a nice chat with her, and she actively _wanted_ to be put to rest, hence her running out at the car. Well, fine—they’d do her the favor. Seemed easy enough.

If only Cas had hit Jerry a little harder…

They’d just thrown the matches into Carol’s dug-up grave when they’d heard it: _cops._

For one second, Dean had hoped that they weren’t meant for them, but no, they wouldn’t be so lucky. Best Dean could figure, Jerry had woken up shortly after being knocked out and had called the fucking cops on them in a last-ditch effort to keep Carol tied to the earth. Or maybe it was just chance. Either way, they were right on Dean and Cas’s heels, sprinting after them through the cemetery as they’d made a mad dash for where they’d parked the Impala under a grove of trees by the side of the road. Thank _God_ the cops had taken the road on the other side to get to the cemetery, otherwise they would’ve had a _serious_ problem. They’d evaded them quickly enough and used what little time they had to peel out and speed away to the motel, but knew they had to get out of there _now_. They’d thrown everything into the car at top-speed, swapped out their license plates, and then squealed out of town, leaving it far behind in the rearview, dashing away never to return or some shit and hadn’t stopped until they’d reached Bobby’s.

Well, now they were at Bobby’s. And Dean was _pissed_.

The case had taken way, way longer than was necessary, considering how _simple_ the whole thing really was. Dean had just wanted it to be over so he could relax. Except he hadn’t _gotten_ to relax when it was over—no, he’d had to run away with his tail between his legs and then drive for eight hours through the cold, glaring pointlessly at the occasional snowdrift along the way. Cas had just sat quietly over in his seat, all bundled up in his coat with his stupid mittens and his stupid scarf and his stupid hat (that he’d no doubt _crocheted_ ), perfectly satisfied with everything. Well, fuck him. He could _be_ content. Dean could be cranky if he wanted to.

Cranky that…he hadn’t gotten to…fool around.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself. He’d wanted to fool around, dammit. That’s how they finished hunts—they iced whatever monster they were hunting and then they…did their thing. And their thing usually involved a blowjob. A very _long_ blowjob that would’ve been fucking _awesome_ , and then listening to Cas shriek like a girl when the tables were turned and it was Dean’s turn to work some magic.

Stupid hunt. The slightest thing just _ruined_ it.

He jumped a little and opened his eyes when he heard something near him—and there was Cas. Dean hadn’t heard him approach at all—he’d obviously taken his shoes off upstairs while dropping off their bags. But now he was back, and he was setting an open beer down next to Dean on the end table and just _gazing_ at him while he did it. Dean scowled in return—what was he so drippy for? Hmph—well, at least he had the right idea. “Thanks,” Dean grunted, grabbing the bottle.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replied, going back into the kitchen to go make a lot of unnecessary racket as he dug around in the cabinets, which left Dean to sit and stare at Bobby’s sad little plastic Christmas tree over in the corner—the thing was so fucking ancient that it looked like it might actually be the original Christmas tree used at the birth of Christ.

Really, Dean wasn’t sure why he always put that thing up—nostalgia, he supposed. But goddamn, the thing was falling apart and was practically a stick at this point. It was decorated with a string of C9 lights that looked like they were from the Stone Age,a few crappy, banged up ornaments, and had a dinky little star topper (Dean was thankful that it wasn’t an _angel_ topper because he so would’ve found a way to break it). At the moment there were two wrapped presents sitting underneath it. There were always at least two gifts under the tree at Christmas these days ever since Cas had been dumped on Bobby’s doorstep—one from Cas to Bobby, and one from Bobby to Cas. They always exchanged one gift, a tradition started when Bobby had, in a fit of generosity, bought Cas a cheap but new mop and bucket set his first Christmas, and Cas had apparently insisted he buy Bobby a gift as well and had presented him with new sheets for his bed. That’d been all it’d taken—now they just did that. This year, Dean knew for a fact that Bobby’s gift was an empty box with just a receipt in it, because the present itself wouldn’t fit under the tree—he’d finally broken down and bought Cas a new vacuum (Dean guessed it was because of that funny-as-hell incident where the back had blown out of the old one and coated both Cas and Bobby’s bedroom in dust). Cas, meanwhile, had been playing the saps at the local poker tables and had confided in Dean that he’d earned enough money to buy Bobby a brand new anthology set of Jane Austen hardbacks from Amazon. Well, whatever made them happy.

Dean glanced over into the kitchen and finally realized what all that noise was—Cas was apparently making breakfast. The waffle iron—another Christmas present from years back, actually—was already plugged in, and Cas was mixing up the batter. Waffles? Huh. Well, they did sound good. He better make some damn bacon to go with it—oh, good. He was; Dean could see the package next to the stove. Good idea, that—Dean was hungry, especially after their long drive with only a brief break or two to gas up the car.

…He would’ve even just been fine with a _shower_. He didn’t even get that. In fact, he _needed_ one right now. He’d dug up a grave last night, so of course he needed one. And he’d been planning on washing all that dirt off at the motel with Cas right there in the shower with him. And when they were clean, he so would’ve just thrown him against the wall and gone at him, who cared if it was thighs or a frot. Point was, it would’ve been in the shower, all hot and slick and steamy. _Fuck._ Yes, precisely. _Fuck!_ There wouldn’t have been fucking, but it would’ve been… _kind_ of like fucking. Son of a bitch!

Dean huffed in annoyance. Bitching mentally about it wasn’t going to change anything; all it was doing was making him squirm in his seat. He knew he could always get to fool around later tonight. They still sometimes did at Bobby’s anyway, though it was usually just a quick handy or something these days. Screw that—they’d do _more_. Because he wanted to. Tonight.

Dean sat quietly and sipped his beer while Cas cooked, and he refused to think too hard on what he hadn’t gotten on this trip because it was just frustrating him. He occasionally looked over and watched Cas puttering around, and enjoyed the sound of popping bacon, and shortly after that enjoyed the _smell_ of popping bacon. That was really gonna go a long way to making him feel better about his current situation.

He was finished with his beer when Cas finally called him up for breakfast. Dean heaved himself up off the couch before Cas could get it into his head to try and serve him breakfast over on the couch—Cas was not his friggin’ _maid_ , Dean could very well get up and eat at the table, dammit. Dean did not sit around and demand pampering, like some too-tall people in this house. He pitched his beer, contemplating getting another one, but decided not to when he saw Cas setting the table with the jug of orange juice—yeah, that sounded good. He’d have a beer after breakfast.

“Thanks,” Dean grunted when his plate was set in front of him—big, fat waffle, a little overdone like Dean liked it, and a nice helping of bacon and two eggs sunny-side up. Cas could make a damn good breakfast—of course he could, Dean had given him pointers after he’d gotten the general hang of cooking. Dean slathered his waffle with butter before pouring syrup on it, starting without Cas as he sat up there and minded his own waffle and eggs. By the time he joined Dean at the table, Dean was half-done.

“Is it good?” Cas suddenly asked as he was pouring his orange juice.

Dean glanced up. “Mmhmm—yeah,” he said around a mouthful, and then ate another bite.

Cas didn’t say anything else; he simply settled in and ate with Dean. The meal was entirely silent, but not uncomfortably so. Dean had no issues with it—there wasn’t much that needed to be said. Unfortunately, no talking meant that Dean could suddenly become aware of the fact that…he was being looked at.

Surreptitiously, he glanced up—yep, Cas was making _eyes_ at him. Dammit—why the hell was he doing that? He had no reason to be. Cas only ever looked starry-eyed and gooey whenever they’d messed around or something, so for him to be doing it now was not only ridiculous, but it was also a poke in the eye with a sharp stick—because they _hadn’t_ done anything. And—goddammit—it was making Dean… _want_ to do stuff. Like, _now_.

So much for breakfast improving his mood. _Thanks a lot, Cas._

Grumpily, he ate the last piece of his bacon before sopping up some more syrup with another bite of waffle just in time to see Cas flick his eyes up from his plate and gaze tenderly at him again. Dean scowled at him in return and then paid very close attention to what remained of his breakfast. What the hell was his problem, anyway?

…Duh. There _wasn’t_ a problem—Cas was doing that because he could _get away with it_.

Dean was not going to pretend that Cas didn’t _gaze_ at him after they messed around, even around other people, because he couldn’t help it because Dean was awesome. Dean knew better by now to try and say he didn’t. Any time after they finished a little fun in a motel room, Cas pretty much just followed him around with the big eyes like a dork. But when they _hadn’t_ done it, Cas generally kept his rapturous sighs and staring to a minimum—at least when there were other people around. On a normal day when he, Sam, and Bobby were all in the house, Cas simply minded his own business and very, very rarely gave Dean the “what would I do without you” look (which bugged the hell out of Dean). But there _wasn’t_ anybody around or anything to do to distract him at the moment. So naturally, he’d be doing it. Shit.

Dean finished first, of course, and considered taking his plate up to the sink for Cas but decided against it as payback for all the nonsense he was doing on the side—besides, it was Cas’s job anyway. So he left his plate there, instead getting up and heading to the fridge for an after-breakfast beer as a companion to the before-breakfast beer he drank earlier and then, against his better judgment, returned to the kitchen table instead of back to the couch.

“So,” Dean said after a moment, “You got any plans for today? Bobby got any specific work for you today, or just the general crap?”

“He didn’t mention anything in particular,” Cas replied. “But we were discussing some translations before our hunts came up, though—I’ll probably get started on those.”

“Mmm. I think you should take a shower and a nap, personally,” Dean observed. “I mean, I’m gonna.”

“I have to do my chores—at least the laundry,” Cas said as he poured a little more syrup on his waffle.

“Dude, it can wait. We didn’t even have any spots to treat this time,” Dean added, smirking at him.

Cas ignored him. “It doesn’t matter—I prefer to get it done quickly. And besides, I had a short nap in the car; I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep after I’m finished with everything.”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugged before taking another swig of his beer.

Cas quickly finished up his own breakfast, gave Dean one last look at which Dean rolled his eyes, and then took both plates to the sink, just as Dean knew he would. He started the water and grabbed his sponge, and that left Dean alone to continue stewing.

Really…he could just…get Cas to go upstairs for a few minutes. Dean had planned on just napping down here on the couch, but he could up and sleep in the upstairs back room instead and just get Cas up there on the way. That would be the perfect excuse, after all. Good plan. Go up there under the pretext of sleeping, call Cas up, and then just yank him into his room and get his pants open long enough to—

He ground his teeth together. No—no way. He had no idea when Sam and Bobby were coming home, and he had _zero_ desire to risk getting caught with his pants down. God, just the _idea_ of hearing them coming home while he was halfway to heaven, both their pants around their knees while they were furiously bumping dicks…now _that_ was nearly enough to kill his libido.

Nearly, anyway. So he was still frustrated and horny; now he was just shuddering in horror at the thought of getting caught.

He sighed. He would finish his beer and sleep. That was the best way to pass the time quickly to get to the time of day he really, really wanted. Just sleep it all off—he could mess around with Cas tonight. He just needed to wait.

A splash and a grunt made Dean look up, and he snorted at the sight he beheld. Cas had just slopped soapy water onto the floor. _Good one, dork_ , he thought in amusement, tipping his bottle back again and watching Cas set the clean dishes on the drying rack before shutting off the water. Dean expected him to go get the mop, since it was a good sized spill, but he didn’t—must’ve decided that it wasn’t quite worth the effort. As such, he just grabbed a dishrag, and was lowering himself to his knees—

_Holy shit._

Cas was on all fours, wiping up the spill, waving his ass right at Dean, his back arched, his jeans pulled tight…

Dean’s mouth was dry. He was frozen in place, his beer forgotten, because the urge to mess around with Cas was suddenly and violently replaced with nothing but the desire to run over there, jump on him, tear his clothes off, and _fuck him_.

That was about the time Dean’s brain finally caught up with his balls.

 _Wait—what?! Fuck him?! No!_ No, he did _not_ want to fuck Cas, thank you very much, and—and even if he _did_ want Cas’s sweet little ass, he wouldn’t actually _do_ it because they’d just—for Christ’s sake, they’d just done that a month ago! Well…technically two months ago, since that’d been at the first of November and now it was nearly Christmas—

 _To hell with that_ , Dean snarled internally. No, it was last month and that was final. And, most importantly, _they did not fuck at Bobby’s_! They _never_ fucked at Bobby’s! Some things just— _no._ ‘Sides, the idea of getting caught having a frot or getting a blowjob was bad enough, but to be caught bending Cas over, pounding him hard and making him shriek like a girl, hearing him wail Dean’s name over and over and beg for—

Okay, none of this was helping and the warring feelings were making him seriously edgy. He could not think about screwing Cas and getting caught at the same time.

No. _No._ He would go with his original plan—just wait it out. He would wait until tonight and then get some action. And it would _not_ be a full-on fuck!

Dean was so wired and tense that he nearly jumped out of his chair when his phone went off. Swearing a little under his breath, he shifted around in his seat and dug it out of his pocket, and when he checked the number, he suddenly remembered that Bobby and Sam hadn’t called the night before like they said they were gonna—Dean had been a little too preoccupied with their mad escape to think about it at the time, and so his horniness began to be replaced by wariness as he answered the phone.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean. It’s us.”

“Where’ve you been? I thought you were gonna call.”

“I did—I left a voicemail. Didn’t you get it?”

“Oh—no, I guess not. When’d you leave it?”

“Late last night, after we took out the spirit. You didn’t call either, you know.”

“Yeah, well, we ran into trouble and had to make a run for it. We drove all night—just got in, actually.”

“Oh? Nothing bad? You two okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. What about you—you almost home, then?”

“Nope—I told you in the voicemail, we put the spirit down, but Hallworth was still probably gonna get away with it. They were holding him as the primary suspect on bail, but they didn’t have much on him—we had to stick around and make sure that his wife’s body was found so the cops could charge him, but without getting ourselves implicated by the purification ritual.”

Dean blinked. “Oh. So where are you?”

“At the motel—we’re packing. Hallworth’s gonna be going away for a long time.”

“Great. That’s good to hear,” he muttered, staring at his beer bottle. “What about the spirit?”

“Had pretty much no problems—Bobby took care of it and barely had to ask me for any help at all.”

“Not even to change my colostomy bag,” came the gruff, cranky voice of Bobby.

Dean rolled his eyes. “He still bitching?”

Sam sighed. “Yes. And of course he doesn’t believe me when I tell him that no, we _aren’t_ trying to baby-sit him.”

“Shut up and help me pack,” Bobby barked. “Wouldn’t want me to throw my back out lifting all these heavy shirts or somethin’.”

Sam made a rude noise. “I gotta go. We’ll hit the road after breakfast, probably around ten. We’ll be home tonight. See you then, Dean.”

“Yeah, see you.” And then he hung up.

Dean snapped his phone shut, very deliberately setting it back down on the table. He supposed he should open it back up and listen to and delete the old voicemail—just get rid of it, since it was unnecessary now. But it could wait—he’d do it later.

Cas had finished cleaning up the spill and had fetched his laundry basket while Dean was on the phone. He already had it half-full from emptying his own clothes bag into the hamper, and now he was dumping Dean’s into it as well. Once he was done, he picked it up, leaving the empty bags by the table, and after sparing Dean one last soppy look, he drifted away towards the basement door.

Dean didn’t watch him slip into those dumb flip-flops he kept by the door for going down into the basement when he wasn’t wearing any other shoes, nor did he watch him open the door and go downstairs. He didn’t watch the door slowly swing shut, either. Instead, he just sat there, his brain turning over and over everything he’d just been told.

The sound of the basement door clicking shut finally snapped him out of it.

Dean shot out of his seat so fast his chair rocked backwards and almost fell over, but who cared about that? Dean didn’t—he was already running as fast as he could for the stairs, racing up them and clamoring into Cas’s room, snatching his bag from the floor and tossing it on the bed as he went. His hands scrabbled for the front pocket, nearly breaking the zipper in his haste to yank it open, but he didn’t care about that either—he needed what was in there _now_.

Lube and a condom— _yes._

He whirled around and ran back out, nearly tripping on the stairs when he hit them because he was trying to run and stuff the lube and the condom into his pocket at the same time. Fuck it. Like hell a broken neck was gonna slow him down, _not now_. No, he was getting down there to Cas, and absolutely nothing could stop him, because he _had to have it_.

And he was gonna _get it_.

He hit the door with a bang, throwing it open and clattering quickly down the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he hit the bottom, his gut burned hotter because there was Cas, leaned over the washing machine, probably about to set it, and his jeans were pulled taut over his butt and his shirt was riding up just a little…

Right before he set the machine, Cas turned, looking confused and concerned at all the noise. “Dean? What—”

He was halfway through turning around when Dean reached him and so did not get to finish whatever he was about to ask. Instead, he just squeaked in shock when Dean grabbed him and yanked him forward, kissing him hard and wasting no time in groping his ass—oh yeah, his _ass_ —sweet _fuck_ , he wanted that ass—

“Mmph— _Dean_ —!” Cas was trying to talk.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean breathed against his lips, knowing that would shut him up, and of course it did. After that, Dean wasted no time in yanking on Cas’s shirt, pulling it up and over Cas’s head. He almost tossed it aside, but changed his mind. No, he had a better idea.

He haphazardly threw it on top of the washing machine, and then used his body to start bumping Cas backwards until he had him backed up against the machine. He didn’t stop frantically making out with him, but reached behind Cas to try and spread his shirt out, covering as much of the washer as possible, but without really watching what he was doing because that would require stopping his kissing of Cas and he was in no mood to do that, not with the way Cas’s hot breath was against his mouth as he panted furiously, clinging as Dean humped against him and doing his best to try and hump right back.

Well, that was enough of that, Dean decided. He didn’t come down here to be humped by Cas—he came down here to _do_ Cas, and Cas was just gonna have to go along with it.

Bracing himself, he reached down and grabbed Cas’s ass tightly with both hands before heaving him upwards, getting him up on top of the washing machine. Once Cas’s butt hit the machine, he tried to wriggle backwards, but Dean held him right where he was—no, they were doing it _Dean’s_ way. And Dean’s way involved pushing Cas to make him lie down because if he was sitting up like this with his legs wrapped around him, Dean couldn’t tear his jeans off.

He easily got Cas flat on his back, biting down on his shoulder before licking a frantic line up his neck and making Cas gasp and arch beneath him. But then he pulled back, sitting up and ripping frantically at Cas’s jeans because he just—goddammit, he _needed_ to get—he _so_ needed to just _fuck Cas_ —

Cas’s jeans and his shorts were off in record time, and Dean almost laughed when he sent those idiotic flip-flops flying when he tossed everything aside. Now Dean had him naked on the washing machine—not a stitch on. That was awesome. Plunging his hand back into his pocket, he pulled out the lube and the condom, tossing them haphazardly next to Cas as he fell back on top of him, kissing him hard as he wormed a hand down between them to try and open his own jeans because he was in pain.

He grunted in relief when his dick was free, and he fumbled around once he got his jeans open, pushing his shorts off his dick and his jeans down a bit—just enough so he could do what he wanted. Then he sat back up, but was annoyed when Cas tried to go up with him, struggling to sit up with one hand while his other reached and grasped eagerly at Dean’s shirt. Dean wasted no time in shoving him right back down flat across the washing machine.

“You stay where you are and keep your hands to _yourself_ ,” Dean managed, tearing open the condom and slipping it on in record time before grabbing the lube and popping it open. Oh, the things he was gonna do to that ass…

In his rush, he probably squirted out too much, but he didn’t care—some people believed there was actually no such thing as too much lube, so there. He tossed it away and sincerely hoped he wouldn’t need more because he knew once he got started, he wasn’t gonna want to stop and go get it. Well, he’d worry about that if it happened. Right now, all he wanted to do was grin at Cas as he made a _hmmm_ sound when Dean didn’t mess around and pushed two fingers right up his ass.

Cas really had a thing for finger-fucking—it didn’t matter if it was just a simple back-and-forth with plain lube, Cas still thought it was the greatest thing ever. What was _with_ him and gettin’ it up the ass? Dean supposed that he shouldn’t complain—after all, if he’d been fussy about it, Dean wouldn’t be getting to do _this_ , making Cas gasp and writhe as he pressed in deep every time, smirking with every twitch he got. Dean also decided that he liked how this looked—Cas on his back on the washing machine, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open. One hand gripping the back of said washing machine while the other was hooked behind his knee, and his other leg tight around Dean’s hip. Yeah, this totally ruled. It was gonna rule more in a minute, though.

There was still some lube in his palm when he finally stopped fingering Cas, and so he just used that to slick himself up. He rubbed the head of his cock between Cas’s asscheeks, and then, deciding that he was having too much fun despite being insanely horny, just started rubbing the head of his prick right there on Cas’s asshole, not pushing in, but teasing him something fierce. Dean just grinned, watching Cas getting more and more frustrated and struggle to push against Dean.

Finally, Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he pushed a little, just enough so that the head of his prick slid right inside of Cas’s ass, but then he stopped, going no further. Cas was trembling in anticipation and looking down, and his cockteased expression when Dean pulled out again was hilarious.

“You wanna fuck, Cas?” Dean suddenly asked.

Cas immediately looked up at him. “Yes,” he breathed, sounding so desperate. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Right here on the washing machine and—” Cas moaned as Dean pushed forward again, halfway this time. “—right up your ass?”

“ _Yes_ , Dean, fuck my ass,” he begged, and Dean felt him clenching down—and then heard him make an aggravated noise when Dean pulled right back out again.

“Say please.”

Cas let out a _chuff_ of frustration. “ _Please_ —” But he didn’t get to say anything else, his words turning into a choked squeak when Dean just pushed his dick all the way in in one smooth motion, their hips bumping.

“Good,” Dean murmured, his eyes closing as he savored this. _Fuck_ , this was everything he’d needed and more.

He kept still for a few seconds, his hands on the washing machine and Cas keeping his legs wrapped tightly around Dean as he petted his chest through his shirt, panting softly. Jesus _Christ_ , now that he was actually _inside_ something hot and tight, he could not believe how much better he felt. But he wasn’t completely better—no, not yet. So, after a couple more seconds, he started rocking his hips in a slow but steady rhythm—just pulling out a little and then pushing back in, making Cas moan softly.

That finally made him open his eyes when Cas’s noises penetrated the fog in his brain. That was weird—usually once Cas started getting it up the ass, no matter how slow the pace was, he started makin’ all kinds of noise. But no, he was bein’ quiet. Well, Dean could fix _that_. Without warning, he gave him a sharp little thrust, going in deep.

And, instead of a yelp, like Dean knew he was gonna get—like he _wanted_ —Cas just gasped and clenched his jaw tightly, his throat working as he spasmed and his hands grabbed at the shirt underneath them.

Dean frowned a little, his muzzy head clearing slightly due to confusion. What the hell, man?

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, because he’d just gotten distracted because Cas squeezed him again. He thrust hard again—and was vaguely irritated to once more not get the noises he wanted—and started moving in earnest—not pounding him yet, ‘cause that was for later, but just a constant pace that was fucking _awesome_.

He glanced down, wanting to watch his cock sliding in and out of him, but because of the angle, all he could really see was Cas’s prick instead of his own. But, instead of annoyance, he realized that actually ruled too—‘cause he was standing up, he could actually work Cas better than usual and watch every bit of his reaction. And totally teach him for keepin’ quiet when Dean wanted him shrieking.

Cas arched a little off of the washing machine when Dean seized his prick with the hand that still had lube on it and gave him a few quick tugs, and his mouth fell open in a silent cry again when Dean prodded right into the slit at the tip with his thumb. His hands flailed and soon he was gripping the back of the washing machine like he was hanging on for dear life—but he was _still_ not making noise! Dammit, what—

It suddenly clicked, and the realization was so stunning and sparked so _many_ ideas in his head that he stopped cold.

They were at Bobby’s. Dean always let him holler all he wanted when they were in a motel, but from day one he’d made Cas keep it down when they were here. _That’s_ why he was being quiet. Apparently, Cas just thought Bobby’s equaled silence without realizing just why the hell Dean _wanted_ him to be quiet (because he was an idiot).

Oh, this was gonna be awesome. Because Dean knew just how much control Cas had—and Dean was about to show him that all of his control could _so_ not withstand _Dean_.

Dean snapped back to awareness when he felt Cas wriggling impatiently and digging his heels into his ass, trying to force him to move again. Dean obliged him by thrusting hard and deep, his eyes on him the whole time. Cas arched upwards again in ecstasy, but still managed to keep it quiet. Heh—he had _no_ idea what Dean was about to unleash on him. He rolled his hips slowly a few times, stroking Cas’s prick in time with his motions, and Cas let out a low, soft groan.

“I _love_ fuckin’ you,” Dean purred, just continuing to slowly roll his hips. “Do you love it, Cas?”

“I— _do!_ ” Dean smirked at how high-pitched “do” was, as he’d timed that one with a sharp, deep thrust. High-pitched, but still quiet.

“ _Why_ do you like it? Come on. Tell me. I wanna hear.”

“Because— _ah_ —because it feels good…so—” Cas sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and white-knuckled the washing machine again as Dean kept up his slow thrusts— “ _good_ …I love… _love_ your c-cock in my ass…”

Dean bit his lip and paused. Fuck, that was hot. So hot that it almost made him lose his focus and bear down on Cas so he could fuck his brains out and finish. But no—he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. He hadn’t gotten what he really wanted.

“You love it when I do this?” Dean reached down, still keeping his hips still but made sure his dick was as deep in Cas as it would go. He stroked up and down Cas’s stiff prick with his fingertips, just teasing, but then pressed a finger lightly into the leaky slit up top.

“Yes,” Cas whimpered.

Dean pressed harder. “You do, huh?” he asked. Cas moaned as his stomach muscles convulsed and he nodded wildly. _Well, if you like them_ both _…_

Dean pulled back and, right as he thrust forward again, hard and fast, he stroked Cas’s cock and rubbed the wetness there, and Cas literally _squeaked_ , his legs trembling violently where they were wrapped around Dean’s waist.

And he just kept that up—pulling back slowly, almost all the way out, and then pushing forward quickly all while he teased and stroked Cas’s cock, watching as he thrashed _every time_ , bucking upwards, shuddering hard and somehow—Dean had no _clue_ how—catching his shrieks in his throat. So he decided to go a different route, just to see how it’d go. He had two hands, after all—so he kept up what was going on but then reached up, pressing against the side of Cas’s neck as he leaned forward, and then trailed his hand down to briefly tease Cas’s nipples before pressing his hand right against his ribs.

Dean resisted the urge to role his eyes because Cas suddenly let out a soft little cry, flailing until he’d grabbed Dean’s wrist with both hands, clinging to him. Well, even though that’d almost worked, there wouldn’t be any more of that nonsense. So he pulled his arm out of Cas’s hands, reaching down and gripping behind one of his knees, pushing his leg up, and then eased his prick all the way in Cas’s ass again and held it.

“You want me to fuck you hard and fast now, Cas?” Dean asked quietly, continuing to stroke his prick—though he was unable to keep himself from looking down and _seeing_ it now—seeing his cock in Cas’s ass— _focus, Winchester._

Cas didn’t notice that Dean had been briefly distracted and just nodded, seemingly unable to speak.

That wouldn’t do. “Nope—come on, you gotta say it,” Dean said, teasing the head of Cas’s prick.

Cas took a few steadying breaths, and Dean took that time to admire the nice sheen of sweat Cas had built up. “I—I want you to fuck me, Dean. Hard and…and fast,” Cas managed, sounding somewhat choked.

“Mmm—so, you want me to fuck your ass. Hard as I want?”

“ _Yes_ —please, Dean. Please fuck my ass,” he begged, sounding desperate. That was good. Dean was about to unleash the beast on him.

“You wanna come soon?”

Cas swallowed hard, his eyes squinched shut, nodding furiously. “I want to—I want to come.”

“You will. I’ll make you come. Not yet, though. You’ll come…” Dean suddenly stopped teasing his prick and then reached down and gripped him low and tight, making Cas gasp and open his eyes again. “…when I let you.”

And that was it—Dean pushed his leg up a little higher, angling him better, and then he did what he’d wanted to do this whole damn time. He pulled back and _slammed_ forward, but he so didn’t stop this time, oh no—he started _fucking_ Cas, fucking him like he’d wanted to since he’d seen the angel on all fours in the kitchen, just _pounding_ him.

Oh, _shit_ , it was good, so good—he leaned his head back, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as he banged him, because he was not gonna come and he was not gonna _stop_ until Cas gave him what he wanted. He kept his grip on Cas’s cock, and he could hear Cas struggling not to just _scream_ —so he fucked _harder_.

“Oh— _oh_ — _yes_ —” Cas was letting out little shivery yelps in between his words, muted and strangled, and Dean just about lost it when he saw Cas’s hand fly up and he was _covering his own mouth_ , trying so hard not to let go—and then Dean reached up, releasing Cas’s leg long enough to yank it away and then _plowed him_ —

And Cas’s back arched hard, his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open—

“ _Dean—Dean, yes, DEAN—!_ ”

 _That_ was what he wanted, fuck _yes_ , Cas fucking _shrieking_ his name over and over again, over the noise of the washing machine thumping hard because they were fucking on it and _that_ was what Dean called an agitation cycle and Dean’s head was spinning as he watched Cas start pulling at his own hair and he sounded like he was fucking _crying_ —

And Dean released Cas’s prick and furiously jerked it even as he kept furiously _fucking_ him, snarling, “ _Come now, give it to me!_ ” and he pushed _both_ of Cas’s legs up ‘cause he knew he didn’t need to touch his dick and then Cas was _screaming_ , like he was _sobbing_ and Dean watched as Cas jizzed all over his own stomach, spurting all over the pale skin there but that wasn’t all Dean could see now, because now he could see his own cock in Cas’s ass, could _watch_ as he screwed the ever-loving shit out of him, and _seeing_ it and _feeling_ it at the same time always drove him _insane_ fuck _fuck fuck FUCK_ —

He couldn’t take it—it was _too fucking much_ , watching as he fucked him up the ass, and Dean let Cas’s legs go and pulled out and for a brief second he saw Cas’s stretched asshole and that was almost enough to make him just go off, panting and struggling because no, he knew what he was gonna do and he couldn’t come, not yet, _not fucking yet but he was so close right there_ —

He wrenched the condom off, flinging it aside and grabbed his own prick, leaning over Cas as Cas twitched helplessly and finished, but even as that last spurt of come from Cas dribbled out onto his stomach, _Dean_ was coming, _coming on him fuck YES_ —

He furiously jerked himself, just _watching_ and holy _God_ , he was coming all over Cas’s stomach, and watching it was making him lose his fucking _mind_ , and when it was over he sagged where he stood, feeling his knees going wobbly, and he let out a huge gust of air as he exhaled, and he felt Cas’s legs sliding off of his hips as he went completely and utterly limp.

Dean fell forward, making sure to catch himself on the washing machine, locking his weak elbows because he wasn’t gonna lay on Cas after this—no way. He was still dressed and Cas was covered in spunk.

Hell yes, he was. As tired as he was, he looked down and just…couldn’t help but _admire_ it. Cas was shaking and wheezing and limp, and his stomach…fuck yes. That made the whole thing. Cas splutted on his stomach all the time ‘cause he never caught it, but this time…Dean’s own Hancock signature splattered there with Cas’s…

Dean barely managed to suppress his undignified snort as his own brilliance because sometimes when he laughed after sex, Cas got all offended because he never got the joke. But they couldn’t sit here like this all day, and Cas really, _really_ needed to clean up. Dean could use it, too. So, rather unwillingly, he pushed up off of the washing machine, testing his knees a little before deciding that they would be able to hold his weight. He stepped back, only stumbling a little, and after he tugged up his shorts and jeans (but didn’t button them yet) said, “Come on, Cas. Get off—you’re a mess.”

He watched and couldn’t help but grin while Cas struggled mightily, getting up to his elbows first and then staring at Dean, his gaze almost cross-eyed and his jaw slack. Dean turned away, and decided that he would be nice and went around the room, collecting Cas’s lost clothes. By the time he’d picked them up, Cas had finally slid off of the washing machine and was leaning heavily on it, still panting. Dean came over and caught a glance at all that glistening come all over Cas’s stomach, saw some of it _oozing_ , and then set the clothes down on top of Cas’s crumpled shirt because he couldn’t just let _that_ go. He reached out and steadied Cas, then drew a line up through the come, starting real low on Cas’s stomach and ending at his sternum, and Cas looked up at him and that familiar rill of heat went up Dean’s spine, weak but still there. The only prompting Cas needed was for Dean to press his sticky finger against his lips, and then he opened right up for him, his tongue sliding out to catch Dean’s finger, and he sucked it all off, slow and only a little feebly.

Well, there was only one response to that heated (if tired) look Cas gave him while doing that, so he pulled his hand away and tilted Cas’s head back, kissing him long and slow, tasting the inside of his mouth and enjoying all of it.

But seriously. That shit was gonna start really making a mess if he didn’t clean it off.

Dean opened up the washing machine, holding Cas’s clothes so they wouldn’t slide off or something, and grabbed a sock from the top of the pile. He was pretty sure it was Cas’s, so that was fine. He held it out. “Wipe that off ‘fore you go upstairs,” he said.

“I can’t…use _that_ ,” Cas started.

Dean silenced him with a look. “Yeah. You can. Teenagers have been jerkin’ off into socks for years. And it’s already dirty anyway, so don’t be a bitch.”

Cas grudgingly took it and Dean looked away as he cleaned up, and of course he took his time—but Dean was willing to give him a pass because he had an excuse. He was wiped out. Because Dean ruled.

Dean looked back when he heard him lifting up the lid to the washing machine, and then he collected his clothes again, moving clumsily, still naked as a jaybird while he was doing it. Dean snorted and shook his head. “Wash up in the downstairs. I’m hittin’ the upstairs for a shower and goin’ to bed,” he said.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, sounding so fucking _soppy_ , and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing but kiss him again, reaching down and giving his naked butt another squeeze before turning and heading for the door.

And then he froze, because he’d almost forgotten something very important. He detoured around Cas, who tottered away (nakedly) and up the stairs, and waited until he was gone before he leaned over to grab the lube from where it had fallen on the floor and then to pick up the used condom from where Dean had thrown it. He stuffed the former into his pocket and buried the latter deep in the trashcan that Cas kept down there. _Then_ he headed for the door.

 _Christ._ He’d needed that.

* * *

_11:42 a.m._

Cas could make a really good grilled sandwich.

He wasn’t some kind of master chef or anything—fact was he couldn’t _invent_ anything. He was so goddamn uncreative about stuff, and that included cooking. But once someone just sat him down and _told_ him what to do, or when he found something he liked, he’d stick to it until it was perfect—and so that was how it was for most recipes. Including the grilled sandwich Dean had just finished—bread all toasty and slightly buttery, the lettuce and tomato between the bread warm, with plenty of turkey and mayo. And pickles, like Sam always refused. Because unlike Sam, Cas could actually make a decent sandwich. Just like Dean had taught him.

Dean stretched a little, letting Cas take his plate away. After their little bit of messin’ around down in the basement, Dean had indeed showered and hen fallen asleep on the upstairs couch, just like he’d threatened. And when he’d woken up at about eleven, he’d come downstairs to find Cas sorting through some books that Bobby had left out. Turns out Cas _hadn’t_ napped, just like Dean thought. He’d been about to suggest he take a break when Cas had spoken first, asking him if he wanted lunch, and Dean hadn’t been able to turn it down. Good thing he hadn’t, ‘cause lunch was awesome, and now here he was, watchin’ Cas do the dishes as he finished off his beer.

It really was ridiculous, how domestic Cas was. Out of all the things a fallen angel would settle into doing, “housewife” really wasn’t one of the ones Dean thought would be a viable option. But no, even after all of these years of being Bobby’s maid service, Cas was perfectly happy doing it—Dean was pretty sure he actively _enjoyed_ it most of the time. Even weirder, Dean actively liked _watching_ him do it. He just got the biggest kick out of it, watching the June Cleaver of angels run around and be so completely and utterly…harmless, really. He didn’t care that he knew better and that Cas had done some seriously nasty shit in his day, and even now could still be pretty badass.

Tipping his bottle back, he got the last few drops of his beer and smirked as he watched Cas scrub the pan, looking way more serious than the situation deserved. As he meticulously scraped every single bit of leftover food from the surface, Dean finally couldn’t resist it—this was just too much.

He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he rose. Cas didn’t turn around, and Dean was glad for it, because it meant that Cas didn’t know he was being stalked until Dean was right on him, gently sliding his hands around Cas’s hips, slipping them into his jeans pockets.

Cas froze, trying to turn a little.

“No, you stay where you are,” Dean murmured, leaning his head down to kiss Cas’s neck.

“Dean—”

“Shh—you’re doin’ chores, Cas. You just keep doin’ ‘em. Gotta work, and all,” Dean whispered right against his skin, flicking his tongue out to tease his pulse a little.

Cas inhaled a little and stayed still for a moment more. “Go on, Cas—do your chores,” Dean repeated even as he stepped closer, pressing his hips right up against Cas’s ass as he nuzzled him.

Cas finally did as he was told, regripping the pan and going back to scrubbing circles on the bottom with his sponge, and Dean smirked against his skin—he wasn’t concentrating quite so hard now. Dean pressed tiny, lingering kisses up and down his neck, pausing to nibble behind his ear occasionally, just watching the motions of Cas’s hands stutter and get more repetitive—Dean had barely started and Cas was already paying no attention to what he was doing.

“You aren’t doing a very good job,” Dean said softly, sliding one hand out of Cas’s pocket and slowly dragging it up until he’d slid up under Cas’s shirt, feeling the warm skin of his belly. “Think Bobby’d like it if he came home and saw all this mess? You’d better pay attention and wash ‘em right.”

“Dean,” Cas managed, sounding breathless, “I—”

“Work, Cas—do those dishes,” Dean interrupted, grinning as he slid his hand down right across the front of Cas’s jeans, squeezing deliberately and making Cas grunt helplessly as his mouth fell open.

But he only squeezed there once. Wouldn’t want Cas getting ideas. So he slid his hands back into Cas’s pockets, holding him still, and kept nuzzling Cas’s neck, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to his fluttering pulse.

“You seriously aren’t paying attention to your chores. Do I need to leave?” Dean said against Cas’s throat, his voice dripping with sincerity and concern.

“No—no,” Cas said immediately. “No, don’t—I’ll—I’ll clean.” And Dean smiled widely when Cas picked up the pace, furiously scrubbing and obviously struggling not to let his movements stutter when Dean pushed his hips against Cas’s butt again.

Dean never stopped what he was doin’. He was having too much fun. He just watched as Cas labored through his dishes, and he enjoyed the little sighs and _mmms_ he’d make when Dean did something particularly nice. He also enjoyed when Cas almost dropped a plate because Dean reached up to press his hand against Cas’s breastbone. Cas was dumb.

Finally, Cas put his last dish aside, only fumbling a little, and so Dean gently took him by the upper arms and turned him around, sliding his fingers into Cas’s back pockets now and kissing him, nice and slow and deep.

When he pulled away, he bumped Cas’s forehead with his own. “You gonna nap now?” Dean asked against Cas’s mouth.

“Maybe,” Cas answered, sounding dazed and breathless. “I do…have a few other—” But then Dean kissed him again because hey, he was there.

“Go ahead and nap, Cas. Just an hour.” He gave his butt a light squeeze. “Want me to wake you up around one?”

Cas nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. I am…a little tired.”

Dean grinned— _Yeah, I’ll bet._ “Right.” And after giving him one more squeeze, Dean pulled away, wandering over to the fridge for another beer.

* * *

_2:12 p.m._

Cas had been up for about thirty minutes now, and already he’d started to get back to work. He’d tried to start right in on the job that he and Bobby had left before their hunts, but Dean told him to take a breather—all work, no play, dull boy, and all. So he was just sitting over at Bobby’s desk and tidying up all the books and debris scattered around. Dean remembered back when it used to look like a tornado had hit Bobby’s desk. But ever since Cas moved in, unless they were deep in heavy-duty research, the desk was painfully neat. The only thing that got scattered around the house now were all the crappy romance novels that those two weirdos liked to read. That’s what Cas was doing now—gathering up all the ratty old paperbacks that were scattered all over the place and putting them into two neat stacks. He’d just put away _The Baron’s Wife_ in the first pile and now had grabbed something called _The Tin Star_ to put in the second.

He took another sip of his beer, continuing to eye him. Sam and Bobby _might_ be approaching Iowa at this point—Sam refused to speed like Dean did, though, so they were still probably deep in Missouri. Point was, they were not here, and wouldn’t be here for a while.

And Dean was slowly becoming aware of the low simmer starting up in his stomach again as he just sat there and looked at Cas, watching him serenely stack his crappy books.

Dean cleared his throat, and Cas looked up. “Cas, how do you and Bobby even read those stupid things, anyway? They’re crap.”

“We enjoy them,” Cas answered simply, giving no details—which was fine, because Dean didn’t want any.

“I’ll bet you do—have all the juicy scenes marked, huh?” Dean said wryly, giving him a look.

Cas scowled a little at him. “I don’t read them for sex scenes,” he retorted huffily.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at him, which made Cas scowl even more. Oh, this was awesome. He settled a little more into the couch, putting his beer on the table next to him. “ _Sure_ you don’t,” Dean drawled, and he was seriously having to restrain himself from just cracking up completely at Cas’s bitchface—mostly because he was about to make him completely forget about bitchfacing at all. “I never bother with those shitty things, ‘cause, well, the written word is never as good as the real deal. So reading all that harlequin shit about heaving bosoms and throbbing manhoods will never be as good as an actual blowjob.”

Cas’s eyes widened, and Dean made a casual gesture at his spread legs, using his other hand to toy carelessly with the button on his jeans as he pretended to pay no attention to Cas at all—not even when he tossed the book in his hands on the desk and all but flew out of his seat and across the room to get down on his knees and eagerly pull Dean’s jeans open.

It was a good one—Cas exerted himself, drawing it out so much that Dean had time to completely finish his beer, and it wasn’t like he’d been chuggin’ the thing. Dean petted his hair and murmured soft encouragements the whole time, and once he was done coming _hard_ down Cas’s throat, he rested for only a couple of seconds before pulling Cas right into his lap and returning the favor—well, not _exactly_ returning it, but he still had Cas moaning against his neck with the handjob, bearing down on him as he jerked him furiously all through his own orgasm.

As he let Cas recover himself, allowing him to lay on Dean and stroke his chest while he did, Dean couldn’t help but grin smugly—because he knew what was gonna happen tonight. Sam and Bobby were gonna get home, all tired from their long trip. And then Sam was gonna get ready for bed and get all comfy on the couch—and he’d have no idea that a mere eight hours earlier, Dean had been getting awesome head where he slept.

* * *

_4:54 p.m._

It was the glasses that did it.

Those damned glasses—Cas only ever wore them when reading. A few years ago he’d started fretting about his eyesight going—he’d been briefly convinced that he had glaucoma—and had dealt with the problem by getting himself a ridiculous pair of half-glasses and obsessively wearing them any time he had to read anything. They were just the cheapos you could buy anywhere, and weren’t all that powerful. Really, Dean doubted his eyes were going at all. Cas usually managed to work himself into frets over nothing, so he’d probably just bought the damn things because The Internet Said To.

But Dean had been minding his own business, stretched out on the couch with Def Leppard in his ears and his laptop in front of him as he idly skimmed the web for various leads to possible new cases (and occasionally checked out a few _other_ sites for more…enjoyable updates), while Cas had worked on Bobby’s translation. Dean had just happened to glance up and see him, sitting there at Bobby’s desk as he searched through a particular book…

…with those reading glasses perched nerdily on the end of his nose, his expression way more serious than the situation warranted.

God, he was the biggest dork in _existence_. And now he _seriously_ looked the part. And for some reason, it was makin’ Dean laugh now.

Dean just watched him; Cas had no idea he was doin’, it, either. He was too absorbed in his book, flipping through the pages as he looked for whatever he was lookin’ for. Then he pursed his lips a little and closed the book, setting it aside and getting up to go search for something else over on Bobby’s bookshelf.

Dean knew for a fact that when Cas got absorbed in a certain task, he didn’t pay too much attention to anything else. That being the case, he wasn’t worried that Cas would spot him pulling out his headphones and shutting his laptop, setting it aside and hopping up off of the couch. And no, he didn’t notice, still scrutinizing Bobby’s titles. By the time he found what he wanted and pulled it off, Dean had maneuvered himself behind him as Cas started back towards Bobby’s desk with his book. However, before he could go around to the other side and sit back down, Dean caught him gently by the upper arm, making him glance quickly behind him.

Dean turned him easily, pulling the book out of his hand and setting it on the desk. Dean realized he’d never really seen Cas this up close while he was wearing his glasses, and it looked even more ridiculous than when he happened to spot him using them from a distance. It was too much, is what it was, so he dipped his head down and kissed him, sliding his arms around Cas until his hands rested in the small of his back.

Cas didn’t look entirely surprised that Dean was reaching for him again, but he did look very pleased, his eyes big and shining. But because they were doing it from behind those stupid glasses, for some reason it seriously turned Dean on.

He bumped Cas’s hips with his own, pushing him backwards as he leaned down to kiss him some more, and when he felt him hit the desk, he had absolutely no problem with haphazardly pushing anything near the edge out of the way and then grabbing Cas’s ass, hoping Cas got the idea as he tugged on him. He did, and with a little hop, he was suddenly sitting on the desk and Dean wasted no time getting right between his legs and deepening the kiss he was giving Cas.

He couldn’t help but smile against Cas’s mouth when he immediately felt Cas’s legs wrap around him, but when he tried to lean back Dean refused to let him—no, none of that. They weren’t doing _that_. So he kept him upright, dragging his mouth down Cas’s jaw and to his neck, nibbling all of the spots on it that he knew would make Cas moan.

There was something about doing this on _Bobby’s desk_ that made it hot. He supposed it was the same thing as when Cas had blown him on the couch where Sam usually slept. The fact that he was getting up to no good there, and that _nobody_ would know why he was smirking at them—Bobby would never know that Cas’s butt had been right where he usually set his whiskey when he read at his desk. And he wouldn’t know that Dean had his hand down the back of Cas’s jeans and was groping said butt while it was there.

It wasn’t a frantic make-out, but it was certainly intense. Dean could feel Cas getting half-hard where he rubbed on him, and Cas started trembling the longer Dean went at it. He kept getting Dean’s shirt bunched up where he slid his hands up to feel the skin of his back, and he managed to get it up under Dean’s arms when he circled around to the front to press against his ribs and tease Dean’s nipples. Dean gently bit down on his shoulder through Cas’s shirt, making him hiss a little, and then he returned to Cas’s mouth and just tasted him, using his own tongue to force Cas’s into submission.

Dean wasn’t really sure how long he sat there and just made out with Cas on Bobby’s desk, enjoying Cas’s every gasp and moan and _purr_ as Dean gently touched him and kissed him, but he decided that, when he started getting a little excited himself, he’d better stop. Wasn’t gonna get so excited that he just said yeah, he needed to do somethin’ with Cas on the desk beyond what he was doin’. So, after giving Cas one last, long deep kiss, he pulled away, smirking as he unhooked Cas’s legs from around his hips.

“Finish your translation,” he said brusquely, bumping Cas’s forehead with his own, reaching up and pushing Cas’s glasses more firmly onto his nose, and then he went back to his music and his laptop as if nothing had happened.

* * *

_6:22 p.m._

“Cas! Hey— _Cas!_ ”

He could hear him coming to the foot of the stairs. “Yes, Dean?” he called.

“Get up here.”

“Why?”

Dean grumbled a little. “‘Cause I need your _help_ , you dumbass.”

That got him—his footsteps were rapid as he ascended, and Dean would bet his beer money that he was looking worried now. And it would’ve been a bet he’d win, because the second Cas rounded the corner, Dean saw all that concern and it only made him grin.

“Help with what—”

Cas’s eyes went wide when Dean’s hands shot out and grabbed him, dragging him forward and whirling them so he was thrown against the wall and then Dean was all over him, groping and biting and licking up his neck before plunging his tongue deep into his mouth, yanking Cas’s and his own jeans open. He wasted no time shoving his hand into Cas’s shorts, seizing his still-soft prick. Cas groaned pitifully, jerking against Dean’s hand as he worked to get Cas up because what Dean _really_ wanted was to feel Cas’s boner against his own. Dean’s cock was already hard, and he was unsurprised when Cas finally became aware of what was going on and reached down to grab him in return.

Dean growled in his throat and bit him again before answering his interrupted question: “I need help _gettin’ off_.”

* * *

_12:52 a.m._

A hard fuck on the washing machine, a long, lazy blowjob on Bobby’s couch, and a quick and furious two-minute frot in the hallway.

Yeah, Cas had earned this.

Dean was on his back, one arm looped around Cas, lazily stroking up and down his back, occasionally tracing out the patterns of a scar or two. Cas was hot and heavy and still panting, but only a little, all draped across him, rubbing his cheek against Dean’s chest. They’d already cleaned up, so of course now Cas would want to cuddle. He’d wanted to cuddle before, too. But hey, Dean’d let him—as he said, he’d so earned it. Just like he’d earned everything Dean did to him before. He’d graciously gone down on him, and then when it was time for the finale, he’d just rolled over and slicked up his thighs and let Cas go to town—and he had. He’d even let him pin his hands up by his head like he sometimes wanted to do, and then let him jerk him off while he was ridin’ him.

Dean didn’t often _feel like_ letting Cas basically…have his way with him. In fact, he usually made it a point to not let him because he didn’t want Cas getting any ideas about who was in charge around here. But after letting _Dean_ have his way with _him_ three times in a day—five, if you counted the surprise make-outs Dean had sprung on him—he figured that he could make a concession.

So yeah. He’d cuddled Cas before, and now he’d do it again. He brought up his other hand to stroke it through Cas’s hair, and then tilted his head up enough to press a soft kiss against Cas’s temple before flopping his head back down on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling in satisfaction. Cas sighed hugely and then pressed his own mouth against Dean’s chest, near his heart.

_Dumbass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a minor note—almost every single title you see when it comes to Bobby and Cas’s romance novels is real. _The Baron’s Wife_ is a fake one that I thought up off the top of my head (though it would not surprise me to discover it’s real), but _The Tin Star_ is a real romance novel. It’s a gay romance, one of the ones that Cas has been buying to supplement the het romances that Bobby has, Dean does not know that, and it’s generally agreed that he doesn’t _need_ to know that.


End file.
